Hot and Sour
by Rustam
Summary: Malin's quest for the perfect bowl of Chinese hot and sour soup DERAILED! Just a quick vignette I dashed off.


I 

At last, Malin thinks to herself. AT LAST. After an hour's journey on the crosstown bus, twenty minutes of that sitting next to a fat otaku with bad breath who kept staring at her chest while she kept her eyes closed and tried to lose herself inside her iPod and her collection of relaxing and tranquil Tadao Sawai mp3s, AT LAST, she stands before the Gates of Paradise. Namely, the large 'torii' gate that stands over the entrance to the Tokyo Chinatown. "KIIIIII," she squeals to herself, fists bunching of their own accord into a joyous clench as she contemplates the nearness of success in her goal, heedless of the stares from the staid and upright locals.

Tearing off with a CLOPCLOPCLOP of her thick-soled shoes, fuku skirt flapping in the breeze, arms pumping with anxious energy, she zooms down the avenue, does a zig, does a zag, and then ends with a skid in front of the dirty storefront, with a Chinese dragon on a board above the roof and Chinese kanji reading, 'Uncle Shen's Shack of Szechuan'. That's paraphrased. There's no inside. There's just a shuttered window, and a counter, which she rushes up to eagerly, giggling in excitement. "Yes yes YES! Uncle Shen's!" she exclaims, putting her arms on the counter. "Home of 'Shen's 10,000 Cheap Ingredients Hot & Sour Soup', the greatest hot and sour soup money can buy!" She bangs on the shutter. "Oii! Customer outside! Here I am, ready to eat!"

There's no reply. A cold wind blows down the street, carrying discarded papers and various trash in its wake. Malin waits, blinking her eyes.

Time passes.

"Oiiiiii!" she yells again, banging on the window. "Open up or I set this place on fire! I will! I'm dangerous!"

II

Finally the window opens, and an old, gruff-looking Chinese man looks down at Malin sourly. "Eh? Whatta you want? You're not Chinese! No soup for stupid Japanese girls. Get lost!"

Malin's face falls for just a moment. To have come so far, to be denied at the last minute... She rapidly switches to the pidgin Cantonese they spoke in her hometown. "(Uncle Shen, I am Ma Ling, I'm good friends with Big Wan in Osaka, I smacked some bullies who were bothering Little Wan! Fed them good Cantonese dirt lunch!)" There's a hopeful smile.

But the man only grimaces, hands to his ears, visibly wincing. "Okay, okay! Stop that! Aiyah, I'll make you soup, just stop mangling my beautiful language like that, you idiot midget barbarian." He disappears behind the window, but the shutter doesn't close. That's a good sign! A moment later he returns, with a piping hot plastic bowl, filled to the brim with what could only be hot and sour soup, to judge from the palpable aroma wafting up from the bowl, curdling what's left of the paint on the restaurant's wall. "You don't pay. Just get lost!" When Malin takes the bowl, the shutters slam shut, the lock clicking with finality.

Malin's eyes go wide, smile erupting from ear to ear, becoming a close-mouthed smile before she drools all over the pavement. She takes one, big, deep, whiff, and goes "aaahhhhhhh... the vinegar. The seed oil. Those onions!" She holds the bowl one-handed while she brushes a tear from her eye. "I'm so lucky..." Holding the bowl close, she finds a nice spot of curb upon which to enjoy her triumph.

III

Malin's plastic spoon poises over the bowl, packed with meats, and vegetables, and simmering broth. She enjoys this moment of triumph just for a moment, listening to that cosmic tuning fork that has struck upon a star just for her, before slowly lowering the spoon...

Only to look up, to see the eyes of a grubby rugrat staring back at her. His sad eyes merely staring, longing, aching for that which he knows he'll just never ever have. Malin, only human after all, reacts like anyone would.

"Go away!" she barks, then turns to the side. Her smile returns. The anticipation returns. The soup-lust rises again her belly, filling her with that warm, spicy feeling... only to look up again, once more seeing the little boy staring at the soup bowl. Somehow, she didn't even see him move! "HEY!" she growls, shaking a fist, feet waving up and down in annoyance. "I said get lost! I'm trying to eat here! Little JERK!"

The boy's face only gets sadder. "You don't have to give me any. I just wanted to watch you eat," he mumbles, shifting his feet a little and looking morose. "Maybe if I see you enjoying your food, I'll feel less hungry."

Malin's eyes narrow, one brow twitching, and she exhales a long, quiet grunt. A long moment passes. Neither side gives an inch. Until: "FINE," she blurts out, shoving the bowl at the little boy. She jerks herself upright and stomps down the street, arms waving up and down as she goes, hands making occasional jerkily birdlike motions as she mutters to herself.

IV

The little boy stares after Malin for a moment, before looking down at his prize, holding it up one-handed. And then, his mouth curls into a sneer. "Ha ha ha," he crows, stroking his chin with his free hand. "Another sucker! Still got that magic." Holding the soup bowl carefully, he hurries down to the end of the street, dodging back and forth between passersby until he reaches a dark and secluded alley. Heedless of its dark or its seclusion, he hurries inside, dodging past a trash dumpster and piles of garbage bags before reaching a small alcove inset against a tenement building. Sitting there is a little shape curled inside blankets and a winter coat, who raises its head at the boy's approach, revealing the pensive face of a little girl, not more than seven or eight. The pensiveness evaporates, however, seeing who it is.

"Big Brother!" she says, smile erasing her usual worried features. "Welcome back! How did it go?"

"Look what I got!" he announces, holding up the bowl, still steaming hot and loaded with hot and sour goodness. "It's a FEAST! I scored it off some ditzy schoolgirl at the Szechuan place. Doesn't it smell great?"

Despite his announcement, however, the girl's face goes from excited back to pensive again in a few seconds. And now, her brow furrows. "Big Brother," she mumbles. "That schoolgirl you got the food from. Was she blonde, with a head-scarf and big earrings?"

The boy double-takes, staring at his sister with confusion. "Y-yeah, it was! Hey, how did you know that?"

The little girl's finger emerges from the blankets, pointing upwards. The boy's neck cranes back to follow, only to come eye-to-eye with the narrow, HIGHLY annoyed gaze of Malin, hanging upside down by her legs from a fire escape just above. Her arms are crossed, finger tapping irritably against a bicep. "Remember ME?" she asks him archly.

V

The boy's expression cracks, mouth dropping open, before his head falls in dejection. "Oh man," he says, shoulders slumping. "Alright. You got me." Trying to avoid his sister's eyes, so as not to see her disappointment, he lifts the bowl up to Malin. "I gotta say, you got skills, lady. No one's ever got me like that. You win, fair and square."

Malin's eyes dart rapidly between the defeated boy, and his shamefaced sister, who lets her eyes drop to the ground. Grasping the bars of the fire escape, she does a quick flip down to the ground, landing on her feet. "What are you two brats talking about?" she says, straightening up and narrowing an eye at them, hands at her hips. "I just came to tell ya... you forgot your spoons, kid." As the little boy's and the little girl's faces lift up in surprise, Malin's wrist gives a quick flick; suddenly, she's holding three plastic spoons in her fingers. She clicks them together, smile on her face, which soon echoes in the faces of the two urchins. "Don't mind sharing, right?"

All in all, Malin thought later after they'd finished, leaning back and patting their stomachs there on the hard pavement of the alley, it was the best hot and sour soup she'd ever tasted.


End file.
